Little Deaths
by mosylu
Summary: Fa Zhou faces a parent's hardest task--learning to let go. Most recently uploaded: Chapter 3
1. Rainy Night

_For anyone who was expecting more "Mulan Bloopers"--click out right now! This is a **very** different style. At least, I think so. I don't own these folks, I'm just borrowing them from Disney._

"Mulan is gone!" 

My mother's voice jolted me from a sound sleep, and I half-sat, murmuring, "Wha--" Her words didn't penetrate until I looked down at the table by the bedside and saw, not the conscription notice, but the lotus blossom comb I'd put in her hair that afternoon. 

I picked it up with numb fingers, breathing, "It can't be." 

My leg screamed in protest as I hobbled to the room and the cabinet where I stored my armor, flinging it open, praying to find it all still there- 

Nothing. The doors banged hollowly against the sides, and the cabinet mocked me with its emptiness. 

I ran then, ran as I had not in years--outside to the rain-soaked yard, calling her name. "Mulan!" I shouted, splashing through puddles. "Mulan!" 

My bad leg finally gave out under such abuse, and I fell to my knees, then to my belly in the mud. The lotus comb flew from my hand and splashed to earth only a few feet from the wide-open front doors, banging slightly in the wind. 

"No," I whispered. But she had done it. My reckless, courageous daughter had taken my armor and slipped away in the night to take my place in the Imperial Army. An offense punishable by death. 

Li's feet pattered the muddy earth, and her arm came around my shoulders. "You must go after her," my wife cried. "She could be killed!" 

She started to get to her feet again--to run into town? To raise the alarm? I caught her hand, clutching it tightly. A lifeline. "If I reveal her--she will be." 

She let out a long, soft breath, and knelt with me in the rain and the mud, both of us choked with fear for the most precious creature in our lives.


	2. The Son

She was born early. 

I remember this with humor now; it was perhaps the only time she was ever early for anything in her life. Even in that, she was late, for her mother was past thirty, and I near fifty. We had not expected her, after nearly fifteen years of childlessness. I could have taken concubines, or another wife, to fulfill the need for a son, but that route is for a man who does not love his wife as I love mine. 

I remember Li's face as she came to me that morning in late fall. "Husband," she whispered. It was so white, her face. I feared for her in that moment. 

"What did the doctor say?" I asked, catching her hands. "What's wrong? Why haven't you been feeling well?" 

"Oh--Zhou--" She burst into tears. 

"Li! What is it? What did he say?" There was something terribly wrong with her. I knew it. Would she die in only a few months, and leave me alone in the world save for my aged mother? 

It was my mother who gave me the news, since Li was still crying so hard she couldn't speak. "She is with child, my son!" my mother cried, bounding into the room with the enthusiasm of a woman a third her age. "A child! At last! A son for you, a grandson for me, a man to honor you after your death!" 

It was a difficult pregnancy. The doctor ordered Li to her bed in early spring, after she began having pains when she shouldn't. We walked on eggshells for the next four months, holding our breath in fear for the baby. We all thought of it as a son, from the very first moment. We never considered the alternative. 

I made plans, in my head, even though to do so was tempting the gods. "A horse, when he is six, so he will learn to ride . . . toy swords--he will learn to fight as he learns to walk, the movements etched into his soul as they were etched into mine. And on the long winter evenings, I will teach him to play go, so he learns strategy, the delicate brain-work of war, not merely the grunt work." I pictured him in my head, a tall young man, long and lean as all the men of my family were, with Li's warm eyes. The finest warrior China had ever known, a fame to outshine even his father's. "My son," I murmured, my arms aching to hold him for the first time. 

Li went into labor in early summer. My mother pushed me out of the house--"This is no place for a man, my son. I will call you back when you have a son to greet." I wandered in the yard, helpless in the face of this female work. What is there for a father to do but wait? 

So I waited, there among the magnolia trees. They weren't blooming quite yet--all tight little buds biding their time until they should spring to blossom, filling the yard with their color and life. 

It was almost sunset when my mother came to the moon gate. I sprang up from my bench, my leg being at that time whole and strong. "Mother? Is it done? Is my son here?" 

"It is done," she said. She didn't answer my other question, but I was too excited to note that, or the strange look on her face. 

My son was no more then a bundle of blankets on Li's chest. Li, too, had an odd look on her face, but I thought that was because of what the doctor had said. Born early like this, my son had a lesser chance of surviving even a few months. But he would, I vowed. He was a Fa, and Fas did not admit defeat. 

"Li," I said, kneeling by her bed. "My son--how is my son?" 

Li let out a long, shaky breath. "Zhou--I'm so sorry." 

My heart clenched. He had been born dead. There was some terrible deformity. He was-- 

"A girl," Li was saying. "It's a girl." 

_A girl._

I stared at her for long moments, my brain struggling to process this. _A girl._

I put out a hand, brushing aside the blanket that hid my s--my _daughter's_ face. It was tiny and wrinkled and red, and more unprepossessing a face I could not have imagined. The tiny mouth opened, and a little mewl, like a kitten, emerged. 

I pulled the rest of the blankets away to see for myself. It was true. A girl. 

I looked at her helplessly, my dreams of horses and toy swords and go games in the long winter evenings dying before my eyes. What use was it to have a daughter with no son to protect her? In the darkness of my mind, I thought, _perhaps it would be better if she did die . . . _

And then her tiny fists batted at my hand. _You will not discount me that easily, honorable father._

Without thinking about it, I touched one finger to one of those tight little fists. It opened momentarily, then clenched around my finger like a vise. 

_I will live, honorable father, no matter what you or anyone else thinks. I will live. I am a Fa, and Fas do not admit defeat._

I managed to extricate my finger, then carefully wrapped the blankets around her again. "Mother--how do I hold her?" 

My mother guided me through it, the puzzlement on her face clear. Li watched us half-fearfully. 

When the dainty feather weight of her was settled in my arms, I stood and looked down into her face. Her eyes were still closed tightly, but one little fist--perhaps the one that had latched onto my finger so tightly--was tucked up under her chin, as if she were pondering the meaning of this life she was so new to. 

My heart expanded like a flower, and without a word to either my wife or my mother, I went outside to the magnolia blossoms. 

My mother found me there several minutes later, sitting on my bench with my daughter sleeping against my chest. "I am sorry, my son," she said, sitting by me. 

I lifted my face. It was wet with tears. "For what, honorable mother?" 

"The doctor says it would not be wise for Li to have any more children. It was too hard on her. You will not have a son." 

"It does not matter," I said, and to my surprise found that I meant it. "Mulan will be a light for our old age." 

"Mulan?" my mother repeated doubtfully. We had not thought of girls' names, of course. The boy Mulan was supposed to be would have been named Chen-Yi. 

"Mulan," I said firmly, looking up into the magnolia tree we sat under. One single bud had burst into blossom. "My daughter," I said, savoring the words in my mouth. "Mulan."

_Sit tight, sports fans . . . this isn't the end! Plenty more to come soon._


	3. Mulan

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(A/N) Sorry for taking so incredibly long to update. I will try not to take as long on the next chapter, but you never know.

  


Mulan

  


It was, I found easier to put away the dream of a son the second time. For one thing, I had done it once before. For another, and I suspect this was the bulk of the reason, I had Mulan.

I remember the first time someone told me I should divorce Li and get another wife who would give me a boy, since my brothers were dead and there were none to carry on the family name. I did not give him the dignity of a reply beyond a hard, cold look that made him back away. In those days, my fame as a warrior was alive and well, not dormant as it is now. How dare he suggest that I would want any wife other than Li, or any child other than Mulan? Perhaps my line would not live forever, but then, what does?

In those first few years of her life, it seemed to me that Mulan would. Because how could a little light that burned so fierce and bright ever be quenched? Every day was like a miracle, every new discovery momentous. Perhaps I looked foolish, carrying her proudly with me everywhere, but I never felt so. As she discovered the world, so did I.

Li shook her head at the two of us. "You'll spoil her," she said, but she smiled too.

"So? She deserves a little spoiling."

"Deserves? For what? What has she done?" But she laughed and took Mulan, pressing kisses to her face until the baby squirmed and wailed to be let down. Li had a great deal of love to give, and only myself, my mother, and Mulan to give it to.

Sometimes, I knew, she still felt guilt that the one child she'd managed to give me had only been a daughter. The women of the town looked at her pityingly as she passed, with Mulan in her arms. But she held her head high and loved Mulan with that much more ferocity.

Mulan was a little late walking--not surprising, since I carried her everywhere. But Li finally laid down the law and said we had to teach her, because she would soon be too big for me to carry her around.

"Never," I said, lifting her high in the air. "Never."

But we went out into the garden and attempted to teach her to walk, just the short distance between Li and myself. She didn't seem interested, although she managed to take one or two steps by herself before collapsing backward onto her bottom. Even though it happened several times, she didn't wail--not my sturdy Mulan. She treated it as another game, and the sound of her giggle echoed off the walls of the garden.

After two hours, though, the game failed to satisfy, and my mother said, "Li, we shall try again tomorrow. It is not wise to push these things too hard. The baby will learn when she wants to learn, and not before."

Li sighed and let Mulan crawl around the garden. The baby paused under the magnolia tree, examining a bug so closely her eyes were all but crossed. She reached out for it, and I picked her up before she could put it in her mouth. She burbled with laughter.

"Do not worry, Li," my mother said to my wife. "Every baby is different." She pointed a gnarled finger at me. "This one did not walk until a year and a half had passed by." She raised her hands in the air. "Aiya! I thought I would be carrying him forever, this baby almost as big as I was!"

Li laughed, and I scowled to make my mother laugh too. Mulan wiggled, and I put her down between my knees, wrapping my hands around her tiny fists to keep her upright.

"And his brothers! Guang, a year, Jun, almost two years, but Dewei, only eight months. So you see."

It had been many years since my brothers had passed from this earth, and my mother could speak of them with a laugh in her voice. I looked at her, wondering how it was possible. If Mulan ever . . . I couldn't even think it, for my world would simply shatter.

"And yet," my mother continued complacently, "they were all babbling like brooks before they were a year old."

We all laughed then. Mulan talked all the day long, most of it incomprehensible gibberish. I felt her fingers leave mine, and reached out to catch her as she fell--but she hadn't fallen. 

Li gasped. "Zhou! Look!"

I couldn't speak, my heart filling with wonder. Our baby toddled across the grass, fat legs carrying her after a bright butterfly.

My mother laughed aloud, clapping her hands. "Ha! Didn't I tell you!"

The butterfly swooped up over the wall and was gone, and Mulan stood looking after it for a moment before gravity took over and she landed on her bottom. Li was across the garden in a moment, lifting her up and kissing her, telling her what a wonderful brilliant baby she was. Mulan, puzzled but always ready to accept cuddles, gave her a huge gummy grin.

"Can you do it again? Walk to Baba. Do it again." Li set Mulan down, and she wobbled for a moment before remembering what to do.

Watching her meander across the grass, I felt a sudden, strange wave of sadness. My little girl no longer needed to me to pick her up and carry her where she needed to go. She could do it on her own now.

Something of my feelings must have shown on my face, for my mother put her hand on my shoulder and pressed a little. I leaned down to hear what she had to say.

"You are learning, my son, what being a parent is like," she told me. "There are so many little deaths, from the very first moment. Sadness and joy mingled--that is what it's like to have a child, my son."

Little deaths, I thought. Hundreds and hundreds of little deaths, as your child grew from a gummy-smiled baby to a tall, strong, capable adult.

Mulan thumped into my legs and held up her hands. "Up! Up, Baba, up!"

Sadness dissipated as I laughed and lifted her. She might not need to be carried, but for the moment, she wanted to. It would be a long, long time before the little deaths became bigger ones.


End file.
